


Work-It

by LedByTHeUnknown



Series: My Sherlock AUs written for friends. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Modeling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-17 18:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LedByTHeUnknown/pseuds/LedByTHeUnknown
Summary: This is a gift for a friend.Through one fateful act of rebellion from Sherlock against his drug dealing boyfriend, his modeling career is put on the back burner to his hobby, solving cases with Scotland Yard.How does all this new crime in London tie in with the doctor he met by chance and his military team.Sherlock is a model along with his twin sister.





	1. Work It

**Author's Note:**

> This was a spark of an idea from a friend, she wants to see it in print so here it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a spark of an idea from a friend, she wants to see it in print so here it is.
> 
> The Original Holmes is more prominent in the beginning then well you'll have to see...

_Work, turn to the left, Work, now turn to the right, Work, sashay, shante, Work, turn to the left, Work, now turn to the right, Work, sashay, shante_

_It don't matter what you wear, They're checking out your savoir-faire, And it don't matter what you do cause everything looks good on you_

 

The shouts from the crowds were near deafening, People calling for Sherlock, wanting a picture of him or a picture with him, even an autograph. The cheers only intensified as his twin sister Willa stepped out of the limo and on to the tarmac of the private but unfortunately not secluded airport just east of Paris. The Holmes Twins were on their second European tour. Berlin, Lisbon, Madrid, Milan, and Paris, leading up to the high fashion twins walk in the London Fashion Week. (Bumped back to CLOSING the month of the major fashion weeks due to security concerns). They were part of the headlining show for the newest hottest designer, Marisol Wright. Her Rock On collection inspired by her rock star husband was perfectly suited for the gender-bending twins.

 

William Sherlock Scott and Dora Wilhelmina Anne Holmes or Sherlock and Willa as they were professionally known were fraternal twins born a mere eight minutes apart. Sherlock was the first and they guessed Willa didn't want to wait to make her debut.

 

The tall lean twins were perfect gender mirrors of each other, which allowed designers and make-up artists to play around a bit and make them nearly identical androgynous beings to showcase their cutting-edge fashions. It had skyrocketed them to international fame, they were at the top of their profession, and they were just a month over 25 years old.

 

Sherlock flopped himself down on the couch of the private plane. While he enjoyed his work he hated the spectacle of it all, the people in his face and the constant screaming of the fans, the shrill voices of the women especially annoyed him when they threw themselves at him.

You think after the scandal in Dubai with him and the prince's betrothed son it would have been obvious to the masses which team he played for.

 

Willa settled into the recliner across from him as their manager Brody entered.

 

"You two stalling out here? The agency sent over some gifts for you back in your bunks." The burly Scotsman that didn't look like a fashion agent but who had a real eye for talent smiled and pointed down the corridor to the back of the plane.

 

"Is it a redhead?" Willa asked. "I haven't a ginger in a while" She smiled as she stood and headed to the back.

 

"I want Victor," Sherlock replied curling up on the couch.

"Victor will be there in London when we get there," Brody replied. He didn't like Victor. He didn't like the way he treated Sherlock or even Willa. And he was pretty sure it was Victor that had been supplying the twins with drugs.

 

It's why Brodie accompanied them now instead of their former assistants Monty and Raquel. The enablers as Mycroft called them.

 

Mycroft Holmes was Sherlock and Willa's older brother. He was a government official and seemed to have vigilant surveillance of his young siblings. It was at Mycroft's wishes that Sherlock's close friend Victor Trevor not accompany them on any trips.

 

Mycroft tried hard to keep the man away even when they were at home in London but it was hard. Sherlock was crafty and knew how to shirk the watchful eyes Mycroft set on him. It's why Mycroft had hired Brody. He'd wanted more security but the more he pushed the harder they pushed back. It didn't help that the agency meddled, they wanted happy models which meant they caved to the twins every wish. Brody and Mycroft suspected this included the dugs when Victor was not around. Brody had foiled several delivery attempts but still, the stuff made it though, and he would find them high and passed out in a hotel and green rooms, usually draped over other people and naked. They had taken to searching the people that were brought but was no effect.

 

Sherlock sighed and stood and headed for the room. He opened the small sliding door and looked at the man on the bed. He was nice enough. Shorter than Sherlock would have chosen for himself, and a little older too. His close-cropped brown hair and the way he carried himself was a dead giveaway of his military background even before Sherlock saw the tattoo on his upper bicep.

 

"Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." Sherlock quipped as he entered the room. "Ooh, a doctor too. What brings you to my bed?"

 

The man gave him a quizzical look, Sherlock was used to getting those when he read people. Deductions he called them, learning about people and their lives through simple observations, the way they dress, talk, walk. He'd done it from an early age.

 

"Ah, you needed the money. Army doctor, high action, not a lot of pay really. Plus it's a good free ride home after a whirlwind trip to Paris… with your fellow soldier and companion… who is not a redhead, Willa will be disappointed." Sherlock smiled "What's your name?"

 

"John Watson." The man finally spoke, "You couldn't figure that out?"

 

"I'm not a mind reader I just simply observe," Sherlock said sliding into the bed next to the man. His body was nice, very fit, Sherlock wrapped his arm around him. He stopped. "This really is a ride back. You were stranded and desperate."

 

John just looked down, the plane wasn't taxiing yet as luggage was still being loaded, were they going to stop and kick them off?

 

"It's ok," Sherlock said sitting. "I'm not a predator; I'm not going to force you to do something you are uncomfortable with. Get dressed." Sherlock said buttoning up his shirt. He opened the bedroom door to see Willa leading the other man to the seating area of the plane.

 

John got dressed and followed them out.

 

"Hi, John." The other man said as John entered the sitting area

 

"Hi, Riley," John replied.

 

"OH, he is fit!" Willa smiled, Riley smiled, John blushed. "It's ok. Riley was telling me what was going on. No shame is blowing your train money on a nice dinner. We've all been there. But really two nice army docs like yourselves selling yourselves for a ride home!"

 

"We need to be back at base before we deploy tomorrow," John spoke up. "Actually by the time we land we'll have two hours if the train runs on time."

 

"Nonsense" Sherlock spoke up. "Brody, call ahead have a car ready for them when we land it can take them directly to the base."

 

"You don't have to.." Riley started

"Yes, we do. It's only polite." Willa smiled as the four buckled in take-off. Body dozed in his own seat already buckled in.

Riley and John just looked at each other and smiled.

"how long will you be deployed?" Willa asked as they started taxiing, Sherlock just dozed in his seat.

"Seven and a half months." Riley replied, "longest that it normally can be, they warned us our first tour would be the shortest, that was 4 months, this is our second deployment."

"Wow, almost like a tour, but then again more dangerous." Willa smiled, she liked these two there was something about them that put her at ease.

"We were mostly in Kabul our first tour, so we took care of the guys after they were brought in from the front of base hospitals and medical outposts. This year we're in Helmand province, it more of a front of action base. They said it's our higher ranks that got us pushed forward, we both made Captain after our last tour." Riley said as John watched them take off out the window.

"You'll be Major in no time." Willa smiled. "You hungry? Once we're in the air We can raid the galley, they keep it well stocked."

 

"For starving models." John smiled.

"Hey, when in the mood, you should see how much Sherlock can eat." Willa smiled as she looked over at his brother, he gave a small shiver that went unnoticed by the two doctors. Sherlock had run out of his stash and was starting to come down. Hopefully, sleep would help. Normally a good sleep chased off his withdrawal sickness.

"You ok?" John asked.

"Yeah just tired. Been a long month and it's not over yet." Willa replied.

 

For the next hour and a bit, the two military doctors swapped stories with the young model about all the places they had visited and all the adventures they had gotten into.

Upon landing at the private airstrip Willa gave the two men hugs and led them to their waiting car as Sherlock made a beeline it to their own car. Willa apologized for her bother as being tired and sent the doctors on their way with a few photos to remember her by before getting in the car with a shivering Sherlock.

"We'll be home soon Sherlock," Willa said holding his hand. "Maybe I should stay in tonight?"

"No. Aston deserves to see you," Sherlock said pulling his hand away from her. "You don't have to protect me. I'm fine Victor will take care of me."

"Like he took care of you before?" Willa said carefully watching as Brody moved on the tarmac overseeing the unloading of luggage. "How many times can we say you fell in the shower."

"he didn't mean it, I made him angry." Sherlock said, "And I'm safe, he doesn't get angry before shows."

"Doesn't want you to miss them so he can continue living off your money," Willa replied.

"I don't hear you complain when he supplies you your comfort concoction" Sherlock snapped.

"I'm through with all that," Willa replied

"Until you get bored with Aston or he gets fed up with a long distance relationship, you'll crawl right back to it," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

Willa had no answer for that. She never told Ashton about the gifts from the agency, the affairs. She wanted to; he was never supposed to be more than a fling, not something going on a year, now it was too far along, how would she tell him? She had so many one night stands. She'd tried to stop but after trying to kick her addiction to the drugs Victor and Raquel had always supplied, the other addiction started, the need for well not love, not sex, but just someone there with her, so she wasn't alone at night.

"The one in Milan was the last," Willa replied. "I can stop. I have Ashton I don't need anyone else."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Brody entered the limo.

"Ok, Are we dropping both of you off at the flat or are you going to Ashton's?" Brody asked

"I'm going to Ashton's," Willa replied. "Sherlock needs his space."

"Ok," Brody replied.

=-=-=-=

Sherlock made his way up the steps to his flat. Brody was behind with the luggage. Not that any of the clothes in the bags were Sherlock's. Many designers gifted him clothes at the end of shows, but they were not his regular everyday wear.

Brody set the suitcase down in the bedroom.

"Ok, that's it then. I'm off." Brody said giving the place a once-over. No one else was there but for how long. "You need anything just call. I'll see you on Monday for the first fitting."

Sherlock just nodded and curled up on the couch. His cell carefully balanced beside him.

As Brody left he saw the sports car pull up. Sherlock had wasted no time in getting Victor over. He better not mess up this week. Not for himself, not for Marisol and not for Willa.

 

=-=-=-=-=-=

Willa winced as the dresser cinched the corset tighter.

"Careful, that bruise from Paris is still healing," Willa said as the dresser tied her in. She looked around.

Sherlock wasn't here. He's been high at the fitting but he nailed his practice. He couldn't miss the show.

This was not just about them, this was about Marisol, getting her line out there and seen, making her the top in the world.

Ashton was already seated in the audience. Oh, they had had a row when she had first returned home. She had kept her word and had told him the truth, everything, and he understandably was furious. She ended up spending the night with Marisol as when she returned home Victor's car was there and she felt no urge to see him. IF she saw him he would have a gift, and Willa didn't know if she was strong enough to refuse.

The door opened and Sherlock entered, he looked like hell. He was sober, and freshly showered but he was a mess, a large bruise marred the left side of his face, and more covered his arms and shoulders when he pulled off his shirt to start getting dressed his torso was also covered in bruises.

"Sherlock?" Willa cautiously asked

"I'll be fine." He replied as makeup artists came over to cover the bruises.

"Your breathing is off," Willa remarked

"They are merely bruised, I ran here. I, I ran away." Sherlock said, "I called Mycroft, he send he would send someone."

"For what?"

"To arrest Victor. I, I had a moment of clarity when he was over today. I was sober as I need to be sober for tonight. He pushed and I pushed back. It escalated from there and this happened. I ran but I knew if I didn't get Mycroft involved I would just run back to him later." Sherlock said as they covered his bruises and started to dress him.

Willa looked at Marisol and the two hurried over and hugged him gently. He furrowed his brow but allowed it.

"We will get you all the help you need," Willa said smiling.

"Yeah," Sherlock said trying to stay the tremble in his hands. He was upset and that made the hunger grow. He wanted a fix, but it was too early, after, after the show, he knew who else to call to bring him a treat.

=-=-=-=

Willa paused at the end of the runway and swayed her hips to the music, before slipping into a very suggestive little dance number before starting her way back to change into her finale look. Sherlock met her halfway on the runway and they went through their carefully choreographed movements before he took to the front of the stage with his own little seductive dance number.

Willa changed her headband as the dressers practically tore the outfit off of her before starting to sew her into the final look of the night.

Sherlock stepped off the stage as the other models went with their last looks. Sherlock winced as he bent down to change his pants to the unisex kilt Marisol had created.

Willa moved closer and gently put her hand on the larger of the two bruises on his torso.

"I told you they are not broken," Sherlock said. As she moved her had to the bruising on his back.

"No they aren't but your seventh rib is dislocated." Will said, "Lean on me."

He looked at her but complied. Willa put her arms around him and placed them on the joint.

"Deep breath," Willa said Sherlock inhaled and as Willa pressed he slowly let out the air holding in a scream as the bones moved back into place.

Was it the most medically sound and scientific way? No, but it was something they had each done for each other over the years. Slender frames and the poor nutrition made them slender and each had had joint issues for a long time. Ribs being the most common to pop as the rib cage was the most abused part of their body from corsets to bondage to just generally tight fitting clothes.

Sherlock leaned on her for a moment

"Better?" She asked. Sherlock nodded. "Ok, we finish the show then we'll go home and you can rest."

Sherlock nodded again and finished changing.

Willa kept her eye on him as they finished prep for the finale.

The twins took their spot to line up Marisol behind them.

The music cue hit and they strutted onto the stage to the cheers of the crowd.

The cheers grew as the lady of the hour took the stage to dance behind her favorite models.

Ashton stood and cheered loudly as one of the venue assistance brought a bouquet of flowers out to present to Marisol.

The gunfire that erupted was shocking and near deafening.

Willa grabbed Marisol to force her to the ground as pain tore through her leg. Willa managed to shove roll her and her bestie into the small gap in the middle of the runway shielding them from the rest of the gunfire.

There were voices but Willa's ears were ringing from the music and the gunfire.

Marisol was crying, Willa's leg was throbbing, she looked to see the blood on her leg, the bullet hole just above her ankle.

It was quieter now. Willa carefully got herself propped up. She hesitantly peered over the runway. There were people lying everywhere, where was Sherlock, and Ashton, Marisol's husband Robbie had also been in the audience.

She tried to stand but the pain in her leg would not allow it. She looked down at Marisol who was staring at the side of the gap shaking.

"Marisol Sweetie, You're ok, it's going to be ok," Willa said holding her friend's hand.

 

Sherlock laid on the floor next to the runway, the blood from the bullet wound in his side pooling beside him, his head hurt from hitting the floor and his leg felt like it was at an angle it shouldn't be.

He heard the footsteps approach, he looked trying to focus. He saw the familiar silhouette of his recent ex-boyfriend Victor Trevor standing over him.

"Thought you could get away that easily." Victor smiled kneeling down beside Sherlock. "You leave me you lose everything." Victor gave a wicked smiled.

"You won't get away." Sherlock coughed, the blood that was pooling in his mouth dripped out, it was getting harder to breathe, his lung was punctured.

"You lie there and bleed, I'm going to find the sweet little sister," Victor said standing again.

"No!" Sherlock feebly tried to grab Victor who just kept walking forward.

Victor climbed up on the runway and surveyed the scene around him, those who could flee had already fled and those who were injured lay scattered about the venue. He looked down at the bleeding body of Ashton Everett he wasn't moving, and blood pooled around him. Victor smirked as he made his way down the catwalk.

He reached the gap near the back, a nice little design in the catwalk to allow easy entry and exits of the models with no traffic at the entryway.

He looked down into the gap. Willa was sitting next to Marisol trying to calm her.

Willa looked up at him.

"You are going down Victor. My brother will put you away for a very long time." Willa said moving in front of Marisol.

"You think too highly of him," Victor said cocking his gun.

There was some commotion outside followed by footsteps.

"Police, put the gun down." A voice said from the doorway.

"I'll put it down when I am finished," Victor said pulling the trigger.

Marisol screamed and Willa cringed as the bullet hit the edge of the gap and ricocheted. Willa let out a gasp. As another shot rang off. Marisol looked up to see Victor pitch sideways onto the runway. She turned to look at Willa.

"WILLA!" Marisol shouted as she quickly moved her hands to place them on the bleeding wound. The ricochet caused the bullet to hit the young lady in the neck by where it met her shoulder. "Help us, someone, Please; she's going to bleed to death!!" Marisol called.

There was movement on the catwalk and a man peered over as he knelt. His brown greying hair was sticking up at weird angles as if he'd just ran his hand through it.

"Are you both hurt." He asked

"I'm fine it's Willa, she was initially hit in the leg and the last shot hit her neck," Marisol replied.

"Medical personnel is on its way. Can she be moved, would it be better to lay her on the catwalk?" The man asked

"Maybe.. wait who are you?" Marisol asked

The man held up a police warrant card and badge. "Detective Sargent Greg Lestrade."

"What's a detective doing at an active shooting?" Marisol asked, still shaken she was a little untrusting.

 "We were investigating Victor Trevor for drug trafficking and it led us here right into all of this." DS. Lestrade replied.

"Ok, I think we do need to lay her down," Marisol said. "You lift I will hold the wound."

The DS nodded and carefully moved into the gap and picked up Willa.

"Sherlock?" Willa quietly asked.

"He's over there with a medically trained officer," Lestrade replied.

"How do you know Sherlock?" Marisol asked

"He's ah, helped with some cases," Lestrade said

"Oh, I thought he said your name was Gavin?" Marisol said looking around. She saw Ashton on the ground "OH god, Ashton, where's Robbie, My Robbie?"

"I'm here." A voice said from somewhere in the stands. "I just can't stand right now. Hit my head I'm a little dizzy."

 

"I'll hold the wound you go to your husband," Lestrade said. Marisol Nodded and Greg firmly placed his hands on Willa's wound. Willa winced. "Sorry"

"What, wrong, Ash, why Mar, sol, oh, god." Willa struggled to talk as paramedics arrived.

"Lay still," Lestrade instructed as paramedics knelt beside them.

One took over holding Will's neck wound; Lestrade went to stand only to have Willa weakly grab his hand.

"I don't want to be alone." She whispered.

Lestrade nodded and knelt again trying to stay out of the paramedic's way.

"Sir, we have to move her, are you family?" They asked

"DS Lestrade, I've going to accompany her." He replied

They nodded and began their transfer.


	2. Aftermath

Mycroft Holmes stood between the two ICU beds. To his left was his little brother. Intubated and hooked to a heart monitor. The bullet that entered his side went through a rib, though his lung and ricochet off his shoulder blade before coming to rest in his sternum. The doctors had done an excellent job of fixing everything, and the scars would be negligible and perhaps not ruin his career. His fall of the runway had left him with a concussion as well as torn muscles and ligaments in his knee.  The leg would require lots of rest that was easily given as he would not be doing much moving in a while.

To his right was his little sister, the first bullet had hit her lower leg shattering her fibula and coming to rest in the tibia. There were now rods and pins holding that together.  The second bullet fractured her collarbone, as well as her first and second rib, causing her lung to collapse. There was also muscle damage, and fragments of the bullet had cut up her esophagus and larynx which warranted a tracheotomy. Mycroft had been told that it would be temporary only for her to heal.

She would be unconscious for a while when she did wake, how would he tell her, Ashton was dead, Multiple gunshot wounds at a close range. Victor had really been out for blood. Mycroft had already fired the entire team that had botched the mission to arrest Victor when Sherlock had first called.

He turned as the door behind him opened. Marisol entered with Robbie who was being pushed in a wheelchair by a nurse.

“Hello Robert, How is your head?” Mycroft asked

“Not bad, it got a hard head, minor concussion and I was a little discombobulated and didn’t realize I fell off the bleachers and hurt my back, just a sprain I’ll be fine,” Robbie answered looking at Sherlock at Willa. “Blimey, they don’t look good, they were already so pale and now….”

“They have the best care, and I have been assured that while it will be a long road, they will recover.” He answered, “Marisol How is your little one?” He asked gesturing to her stomach. “Willa let it slip last week.”

“Doing well, they want me to rest so I will rest,” Marisol answered.

Mycroft nodded and helped her to a seat between his siblings.

Robbie parked his chair on the other side of Willa.

“There’s a guy from the police waiting outside. He was wondering about Willa.” Robbie said pointing to the door.

“yes. Detective Sargent Gregory Lestrade of the MET. He and Sherlock have had some run-ins. Seems Sherlock has fancied himself an amateur detective in his spare time. Apparently, he helped solve two nasty murder cases and three cold cases.”

“He was asking about both of them, but he was the one who helped Willa and I. He held pressure on the neck wound,” Marisol said taking Willa’s hand.

“Anthea can inform him of her status, I’m sure the Detective Sargent has some paperwork to fill out before heading home to his family,” Mycroft said texting his PA.

=-=-=

Greg sat in the hall of the hospital. His jacket, shirt, and pants in the laundry bag by his feet, the loaned scrub top and pants were a little bulky but the only one they had available at the time.

He hoped to get the blood off his jacket and pants, the shirt he would probably just toss out. He watched as a dark haired woman stopped at the room at the end of the hall before heading over to him.

“Detective Sargent Lestrade.” She said he stood. “I’m Anthea, assistant to Willa Holmes’s elder brother Mycroft. He would like you to know that despite the severity of their injuries Willa and Sherlock will recover. It may just take time.” She started before going into specifics.

“Please let them know my well wishes for a speedy recovery,” Lestrade said. Anthea nodded and headed back to the room.

Greg headed down to the lobby, the teams Detective Constable Sally Donovan was sitting by the doors with a coffee.

“You didn’t have to wait, Sal,” Greg said as he approached, she handed him a coffee. “Ah, but thank you.”

“You’re welcome Greg; I figured you’d need a ride back to your car anyway.” She smiled as the two headed to the parking lot. “Are they going to be ok?”

“Eventually.”

“Well, it will be quiet at crimes scenes for a while anyway.” Sally gave a small smile. She may have called Sherlock a freak now and again, but in all honesty, he was a huge help. She just wished he wasn’t so arrogant about it.

“I have a stack of cold cases waiting for him when he’s up to it. You just know he’ll drive everyone else bonkers if he doesn’t have anything else to do while bedridden.” Greg smiled

Sally laughed, and then the laugh and the smile faded. “So you finally got to meet the sister.”

“Yeah, well not really, I mean she was bleeding and looking for her boyfriend... he didn’t make it,” Greg said looking down.

“She’s already on such thin ice if the papers are to be believed. Then again if Sherlock is the way he is, and they’re twins.” Sally trailed off.

“For now, we give them space to heal.”

Sally nodded as the two headed to get Greg’s car.

Greg thanked Sally again for the ride and the coffee. He drove home in silence. So much injury and death all caused by a jilted lover. Besides Miss. Holmes fiancé there were 10 other dead, mostly venue security and event staff. Victor Trevor had been on a mission. To be so incensed over someone leaving you. Then again Greg knew that Victor had some strange hold over Sherlock, the tabloids had run stories in the past, but with big brother in the government, a lot of stuff was never released.

Victor Trevor was injured but would survive. Currently, he was under observation and security at a city hospital. Once he was able, he would be loaded in a transport and sent off to a secure facility. Mycroft had taken over. Greg was actually grateful for Sherlock’s older brother to move in. This would be way too much paperwork for him. He was tired. Life at home wasn’t the greatest his wife was more distant than ever and was trying to pin the kids against him only to get angry that is wasn’t working.

Never would, Andrew and Elizabeth were too close to their father. Not that Greg was boastful about that or had done anything overly special. He just made sure he was there for them. No matter what, school function or sports event, didn’t matter how bad work was he always tried to make it there on time, or close too. He’d missed a few, but compared to their mother who was never there, it made a difference.

Even at home, he was available for them to talk to him, school, personal, or friend troubles, questions about the big bad world. He did his best to answer and help.

Elizabeth was turning 16 soon, Andrew would be 12 in August. From the day they were born Margaret never seemed interested in them. It was a hard thing for Greg to witness as he had grown up in such a loving home. His mother and father were always available. He’d lost them young though, his father was killed in the line of duty (he was a police officer) when Greg was 10. He’d lost his mother to cancer when he was 17. She was his best support. She put up with him in his rebellious years and just made sure he kept his marks up.

Greg was always into sports and by the time he graduated he was a pro-footie player and married to Margaret, his high school sweetheart. He played for four years. Then an injury occurred, so he decided to change gears, be a police officer like his father.

That’s when Margaret grew distant, so it was a surprise to him when she said she wanted to have kids. Elizabeth was born during his third year in the force. It was a good period for Greg and Margaret, and they kept trying till Andrew was born four years later. But then Margaret got distant again, and it had never been the same. Greg did everything for his kids. He did enlist the help of Donovan two years ago when Elizabeth started needing a few feminine clothing items and personal stuff too.

Greg pulled up in front of the house. The living room lights were on. He parked and entered. Elizabeth and Andrew were sitting in the living room, they had been crying.

“Liz, Roo what’s wrong,” Greg asked hurrying over.

“She left.” Roo sobbed out. “Packed a bunch of stuff and left. Said we have to be out of the house by the end of the week as she’s listing it.”

“OK. I did put the house in her name, in case anything happened in the line of duty. But we can handle this. I’ll call some guys from the office, and we’ll get our stuff out, we can go live at Granma Carols.” Greg said. He wanted to fume and yell put now was not time.

They would go and stay with Margaret’s mother, the woman who had also taken Greg’s side when Margaret acted up. He didn’t know why though. She was Margaret’s mother shouldn’t she stick up for her child.

“Dad, why are you in hospital wear?” Liz asked wiping her eyes.

“Worked a messy case, had some blood on me, the hospital gave me these to wear. I am not injured” He said as the kids checked him over. “There was a shooting the lady was bleeding, and I held pressure on the wound until the paramedics arrived.”

“Is she alright?” Roo asked

“She will be eventually,” Greg answered as he removed his phone. “Go get some stuff packed.

The kids nodded and went. Greg sighed as he headed to the bedroom to pack. Dimmock, Donovan, Anderson, and Gregson answered the call and came to help.

Carol met Greg them at the door. She got the kids settled then sat with Greg in the kitchen. They talked over a pot of tea. Carol asked if Greg knew why she barely spoke to her daughter yet never hesitated to call Greg or his grandkids. Greg had no clue. Carol revealed that Margaret was having multiple affairs. Carol had been horrified. Margret knew that is was her father’s affairs that had split up her parents and had upset the family.

“I wanted to tell you earlier, but I couldn’t. I am sorry. It’s why none of us talk to her. That and she’s become so rude, just like her father.” Carol said.

“I, I had my suspicions.” Greg finally spoke. “There were signs, but I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Well, I know an excellent Lawyer, the daughter of the man who represented me. She will help.” Carols said pulling Greg into a hug.

“Thanks” He replied giving her a squeeze back. “This is awful, but, I’m relieved. You must think that is horrible of me.”

“No, I don’t, I felt the same way when my ex-husband walked out. I like you had my suspicions but didn’t know how to react. So when he left, it was like a huge burden off of me.” Carol said “And you were smart, all your money from when you played tied up in saving’s accounts for when the kids turn 21. She can’t get that, I know she compline to me, that’s how I found out about the affairs.”

“I’ll start looking for a new place tomorrow, I have the day off,” Greg said finishing his tea.

“Don’t rush into anything; you and the kids can stay as long as you need,” Carol said standing. She collected the cups and kissed Greg’s forehead. “And if I ever hear from my daughter again I am going to ream her out.”

Greg smiled. He hugged Carol and headed to the bedroom she was letting him use. He felt numb like he should be furious or sad, but he wasn’t, he was just, okay, he actually felt better than he had in months. What he told Carol was the truth, He felt like a giant weight had been lifted off of him.  He just hoped the kids would be alright. He didn’t want them to hate their mother, but how mad would they be? Or should he even tell them?

Greg changed into his sleepwear and flopped down on the bed. He sighed and closed his eyes. The weight of the day caught up with him, and soon he was asleep. His dreams, well his dreams were filled with the vision of a lovely model as she was seen on the covers.

He woke. No, no he couldn’t’ have these thoughts. He may be getting a divorce, he may have liked her the first time she appeared in the magazines, but now was not the time for thinking about stuff like that, no was for focusing on the kids.


	3. Camp Bastion

John eased himself onto the bed, every muscle ached, twenty-two and a half hours straight of surgery. All base medic personnel was on duty, the doctors fueled by nothing but coffee and quick bites of snacks that the mess tent officers had brought. An encampment of refugees looking to leave Afghanistan were attacked, the encampment was not too far from the base, and so all victims were transported here. There we almost 95 patients that went through their doors even at Camp Bastion the busiest military hospital in Afghanistan it was too much and pushed the doctors to their limits. The victims ranged from newborn to elderly, and it was not just refugees, soldiers and aid workers that had been helping out and private security that had been hired to help as well. Injuries went from DOA to minor burns and cuts. Everyone was triaged and sorted, and just when they thought they were done more would flood in. There was nowhere else they could go, this base was the only one that could take them.

Riley was still in one of the operation theatres working on the last of less injured who had been left to wait, not that it was fun waiting with a broken arm. John couldn’t help but think of how many had died simply because the doctors just couldn’t go any faster, how many died while waiting.

John pulled off his boots and laid back. He had already showered, but the heat was immense even in the early hours of the day. The barracks weren’t bad there was a cooling system, but still, the sun could really pound through the windows. John should have really pulled the flap shut before he laid down, oh well, too comfy to move. Riley would do it when he returned.

=-=

Riley shuffled into the barracks. He smiled there was John fast asleep, his hands were going to be overly tanned from the sun beating in on them. Riley reached up and closed the window flap before sitting on his own bed. A shower would have been ideal but the men who were on duty today had already taken them over. Riley would have waited, but sleep was more important right now.

Major James Sholto, their commanding officer, had stopped Riley on his way back to their bunk. John, Riley and the other main doctor Davidson were being given the next two days off. Kandahar had sent three relief doctors. Their allied doctors were being given the same treatment. They were arriving soon. The primary concern for military doctors right now was fatigue, and this pushed the team to its limits.

There were Riley, John and Conrad Davidson were the British doctors, there was Esben Christensen, Isabelle Jeppesen, and Alvilda Frandsen from Denmark. From the United States, there was Grant Foster, Benjamin Harting, and Louis Marpel.  There were also many nurses from the three countries and more from other allied nations working out of the base.

Riley missed the Two Canadian Doctors they’d had when he and John began their tour. They were funny and always made a rough day bearable. But they had only been on loan till the new arrivals took over and had gone back to Camp Nathan Smith in Kandahar.

Riley stretched and curled up on his bed, soon he was in the blissful sleep that only exhaustion could bring.

 

=-=-=-=

John was jarred awake by the banging and the shouting. Something was happening outside. He threw on his boots and followed his other bunk mates including Riley outside.

There was some sort of fight going on in the recreation area.

Soldiers and civilian personnel stood by watching as the men in the middle went at it. There were two sides it seemed like two pairs of men in the scuffle.

On one side the tall, athletic man royal marine tattoo on his bicep and his light brown hair buzzed into the traditional close-cropped marine style. Fighting alongside his was a smaller man who looked out of place. He was too polished for this rugged camp. John had never seen either in that camp before.

They were facing off against two American’s that had been fixtures here for a while. Kerns and Dewitt if John memory served his right. Kerns and Dewitt were an even match for the Marine. Standing at 6’2 feet 190 pounds give or take, Kerns about the same and Dewitt at 6 220. But the other the smaller guy matched their height but was 130 pound if that and almost zero muscle. But he was holding his own.

Riley came and stood by John.

“They’re from some sort of private security firm that the bases hired for the transport of civilian aid workers between bases,” Riley said motioning to the two strangers. “Apparently it’s cheaper to hire them then have the military guys moving around.”

John just nodded as Sholto, and the other base commanders approached the rec area.

“So how did the fight start?” John asked

“Well, it seems these guys worked out of a base near Kabul where Kerns and Dewitt were stationed on their last tour. Supplied when missing and a majority of the base blamed these guys, said they sell it on the black market. But no proof could be found, and it didn’t matter anyway they were long gone.” One of the nurses, Janice, said from John’s other side. “These guys said their names are Moran and Moriarty, but Kerns said they were going by Wallace and Shaw in Kabul.”

John nodded again. He had not had enough sleep to deal with this. Sholto and Major D’Helley positioned themselves between the men. D’Helley was barking orders for each man to report to the Lieutenant Colonel’s office, they would be accompanied by military police. If the Lieutenant Colonel were not happy with their answers, the Colonel would decide their fate.

John shook his head and ran his hand through his hair as he turned to head back to bed.

“Hey since we’re up, want to get breakfast?” Riley asked, “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” John said with a smile as his own stomach growled at its emptiness.

“You do know it’s lunchtime right?” Janice asked with a smile. “But I mean we do have the day off so if you want to lounge about that’s fine, you two deserve all the sleep you can get.”

“As do you.” Riley smiled “You were just as busy as we were and you had to stay later to check post-op.”

“Yeah, but I came into it all later,” Janice said stretching.

Riley smiled, Janice was the best nurse they had. Her knowledge was so extensive that probably in extremely extenuating circumstances she could perhaps step in as a temporary doctor.

Janice gave them a wave as she broke off to head back to the barracks, her shift was just over, and it was time for her get some much-needed rest.

John stepped closer to Riley, he wanted to be close, but he knew that while the commanding officers really didn’t care what their soldiers got up to in their personal lives, they had to respect the locals and that meant same-sex couples couldn’t show affection in public.

The mess tent was abuzz with what had happened in the rec area. Most were starting to spread the gossip. Many of the Special Forces people all said the same thing; the two privet security men were hustlers. That they took supplied from camp and sold them on the black market, and that they were playing both sides, helping out the Taliban as well as the allies.

Riley said that if that were the case, the Lt. Colonel would sort it out.

“Should have just let Sholto and D’Helley at them.” One of the soldiers spoke up. “They could wipe the floor with those security guys. Even that washed up bootneck.”

“But James won’t fight unless provoked.” John spoke up. “even with Williamson was drunk and taking shots. It’s what makes him a great commander. He’s cool under pressure.”

The others nodded and continued eating.

After their meals, John and Riley headed over to the recreation building.

“You going to call your parents?” John asked as they entered the cool air-conditioned building.

“Yes and you are going to as well. We can skype them. Tell them all about what they have to look forward to when we get back. You know the minute we tell my mum we’re engaged she’ll start planning the wedding without us.” Riley smiled.

“I hope your mom makes the cake, that chocolate cherry one she makes is divine,” John said taking Riley’s hand as they entered one of the private skyping booths the American USO had set up there.

Riley smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

 

=-=-=-

Major James Sholto sat in the back of the office, his fellow Major Ronald D’Helley beside him. In front of them were the two private security guards that had been involved in the scuffle. They were talking with the Lt. Colonel Henry Wilshire.

They wove a good story about how some other private firm was trying to do a frame up on them. The Wilshire just stared at them blank-faced as they spoke. He then held up his hand to stop them.

“I don’t have any evidence to charge you with the alleged crimes, but you did engage in a fight with my men. I am grateful you brought some relief doctors to us, but I am going to have to ask you to leave. The reliefs are staying anyway as two of my American doctors will be leaving in a few days so your services will not be needed. Major Sholto and Major D’Helley will accompany you to your quarters and supervise your immediate departure from our base.” Wilshire said. “The transport Helicopter will be here in twenty minutes.”

“Helicopter?” Moran spoke up.

“Yes I spoke to your superiors, and you are both to be relieved of your duty here and sent back home. Apparently one of your other team members will send your stuff home from Kabul.” Wilshire replied, “Apparently this is not your first step out of line, and your company wishes to deal with it personally.”

The two men looked at him then at each other. Their faces were not hard to read, they were angry. But what else could they do? It was them and their small team of men against an entire base.

“That’s fine,” Moriarty said standing. “I was getting bored of this place anyway. Come, Sebby, let’s pack. We’ll come out on top. We always do.”

Moriarty gave Sholto and D’Helley an almost eldritch smile as they led them back to their bunk.

“So, what does it feel like to know you’re on the losing side,” Moriarty asked in almost a sing-song tone.

“What?” D’Helley asked not sure if he heard Moriarty correctly.

“Well richer men then you don’t really want this war going in favor of the Americans, and since you’re on their side, you’re on the losing side.” Moriarty smiled.

“in case you haven’t noticed. We’re winning.’ Sholto replied.

“For now,” Moriarty said with a giggle.

Moran smiled and started picking up his bags.

“You know.’ Moran said pausing “there are going to be so many guys getting in shit with their company. And half them aren’t even over here right now. But it’s easy as pie to steal the credentials needed to get close to all of this.” He said waving his hand to acknowledge the base around him.

“What?” Sholto asked as Moriarty stepped away from him.

“Bomb!” D’Helley yelled as Moran removed his hand from his bag.

Moran tossed the sophisticated homemade device towards the rec area. He and Moriarty took off Sholto followed but was met with a bullet in his lower leg.

Moriarty and Moran hopped into the near buy security van and sped off out of the base as behind him Sholto heard a sickening boom. He looked back to see D’Helley, or rather what was left of his upper torso against another truck. He’d grabbed a nearby sandbag to try and defuse the blast. It may have worked if had been quicker. The sandbag protected his upper half while the powerful homemade device effectively removed his lower half, a few men from near the rec area lay on the ground. Medical personnel rushed in.

John and Riley came out of the rec center and over to some of the injured men as more went to work on D’Helley, there was not much they could do for the man now. The damage and blood loss was extensive.

They draped a cover over him as medics came with stretchers to move the wounded into the hospital.

“What the fuck happened?” Wilshire yelled as he exited HQ with Colonel Hendricks the base CO.

“Moran and Moriarty,” Sholto said before explaining.

“How the hell did two renegade mercenaries end up as part of a private security team on my base!” Hendricks bellowed. “I want the head of that firm on the phone now, and I want all the remaining privet security personnel in my office NOW!”

“Yes, Sir!” Sholto replied saluting. He took another look at the mess the explosive left and headed to round up the rest of the private security firm.

John watched Sholto leave, John couldn’t imagine what was going through his commanders’ head. Sholto and D’Helley were close. As close and John and Riley were. But unlike John and Riley, their relationship was not public. Major Ronald D’Helley had a wife back home, a few kids. The relationship he shared with Major James Sholto was an old one, way back from their time in basic training as new recruits. Neither man was “out” as they say. In fact, they were such army diehards that neither thought they would have a career if they were out. So they hid it from everyone. D’Helley going as far as finding a woman and marrying her and starting a family. Sholto remained the bachelor, he’d go with women when the men were on their leave in various part of the world. But his heart belonged to Ronald D’Helley. James Sholto would be the one to call Faith, to tell her the horrible news, he would be the ones the kids, his godchildren, would call to vent and to cry to. He would mourn Ronald alone.

Well, John and Riley would be supportive. Sholto had pulled a lot of strings to keep them together on deployments. They worked well together and what they got up to alone played no part in the medical work. He’d recruited D’Helley to help. That’s how Riley and John found out about the two men.

John sort of figured it was another reason why he and Riley didn’t publicly show their relationship on base. It almost felt like they were rubbing it in the Majors faces. Most of the camp knew there was something between the two doctors, but no one said anything. It didn’t matter to anyone. The men did their job, and that was all that mattered.

John stood and walked with his patient to the hospital. This young Corporal was going to be in for a bit of discomfort as John was going to need to remove all the little bits of shrapnel in his leg.

Riley followed behind John. His patient was stable but had a bleeding wound in their side.

As the entered the hospital, John looked back at the Red area.

It was never entirely quiet at Camp Bastion but this, to happen right inside and be from someone that was supposed to be trusted. He knew things would be harder from now on. Lots of crackdowns on personnel, but this wasn’t a vacation they were on. This implied war, John was coming to learn that Sherman was right. War is Hell, A vast, barren wasteland, desert hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bootneck is old British Military slang for a Royal Marine


	4. Models at rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The consensus seems to be that in s1 of Sherlock, Sherlock is around 34 years old. John about 37. I am dropping those years down a bit to fit with this alternate universe/reality. I already put Greg in at around 43, so Sherlock and Willa are 27, John is 30/32ish, and Mycroft 34. Working off that some of the most popular supermodels were in the late 20’s early 30’s during the height of their careers.

Sherlock sighed as he flipped through the magazine a fifth time. Just because he was in these things didn’t mean he liked them. The agency had sent over a stack of them for him and Willa. Willa wasn’t even awake yet, they were keeping her sedated until her throat healed more and the ventilator could be removed.

Sherlock looked at the spread in the magazine, he and Willa on the steps of the Notre Dame Cathedral in skimpy little outfits that were practically blasphemous to the religion of the historic building.  How the designer and magazine got permission, Sherlock did not know, and actually didn’t care.

He and Willa had been modeling since fourteen. Their mother thought it would keep them out of trouble. Keep them occupied. Even she didn’t know that they would take off to this level. By seventeen they were doing shows in London for some of the shops on the high street. They were officially discovered at twenty by an agent for an international agency. And now seven years later they were at their peak if the industry was to be believed.

Their life was non-stop. This past week in the hospital since waking up (after being unconscious for three) was the longest Sherlock had even been in one place for longer than a few days.

And he was bored.

There was no stimulation, nothing to amuse him. There was a television in the room, but nothing on their interested him, well nothing but the news but it wasn’t like he could follow up on a hunch he had about one of the stories.

Sherlock looked at the magazine again, then at the television. What was that Sargent’s name, Sherlock had committed it to memory, but the meds mixed with the concussion and withdrawal were making his mind a bit fuzzy. Lester, Strand, Lestrade.

He had met the Sargent when he was walking home from visiting a friend of Victor’s. They were in way over their heads with a case. It was so painfully obvious as they had missed all of the crucial clues. Sherlock had offered his option and had been arrested for the effort.

But it was eventually proven that he was not the perpetrator and was let go. He’d have several other run-ins with him each time he was in London.

Victor didn’t like it. Victor didn’t want Sherlock talking to cops, especially one that was working closely with the narcotics unit. Victor… Sherlock looked up at the screen, the ticker on the bottom of the news program was reporting that the suspect in the Fashion Week shooting had been moved from Hospital to a secure facility.

Mycroft’s doing no doubt. But that was for the best. Sherlock needed Victor to be far, far away and VERY unreachable, or else there was no doubt that Sherlock would run right back to him.

The high that the drugs Victor gave him was like no other. The clarity, the rush, the adrenaline. The only other times Sherlock ever felt like that was when he was sleuthing, as his mother called in. He’d been drawn into it at a young age, and even though he didn’t get the response, he was looking for it still felt good. Like it had on those cases for the Sargent. Running through London looking for more clues. That rush, that rush was better than any chemical high Victor could give him.

Modeling didn’t do that for him, well not anymore, at first he loved it the travel, learning new things, but soon he started to hate it. He was just a living mannequin for people to dress up. No one cared for him. Sure there were fans, but no one really loved him for anything other than his body.

One might ask why he stayed in it. What else was he to do? He had started university but didn’t finish. His mouth got in him trouble, but it wasn’t his fault most of the world was stupid and limited.

Sherlock looked over at Willa if he had walked away, would she have still had her career? She loved it. Wasn’t it every little girl's dream to be famous a model or an actress, singer, maybe even all three. He wouldn’t ruin it for her. She was his world really. His first best friend, his only friend. Sure they fought sometimes but what siblings don’t.

He’d almost lost her when they were little. His dog got a little rambunctious and knocked her down the stairs. She’d hit her head and nearly died. They were 5. From then on Sherlock had vowed to protect her.

Not that he had done a very good job. He introduced Willa to Victor, got her hooked. Then again Aston had helped her break that hold. How would Willa be after learning of his death? Willa was the sociable one of them, the one with friends, she let people get close, they usually ended up breaking her heart. Sherlock didn’t let anyone get that close, not even Victor. He couldn’t handle that loss. Sometimes he envied his sisters strength to live her live so open like she did.

But He would be able to do what he did, to see the things he could see if he let emotion get in the way. Mycroft had always said that caring was not an advantage. Sherlock struggled with that. He could see Mycroft’s point but at the same time. Caring for Willa had always brought him good things. But others. He let Victor close, but he didn’t care for him. Not really. He only really cared about the drugs.

Sherlock looked up at the knock on the door, there was that detective. He didn’t call him yet.. or did he?

“Um, Hello Sherlock. I was in the area and thought I would check on you and your sister.” Lestrade said from the doorway.

“I am healing as is Willa. They are keeping her sedated until her throat heals.” Sherlock replied, “How much of an in do you have to the Manor House case?” Sherlock asked moving the magazine to reveal his notebook. Normally he’d do all the note taking in his brain, but again with the head injury and medication, a physical notebook was better.

“Ah, nothing, not my station,” Lestrade replied. “Actually I’m going to have a lot more murders and such on my plate soon.”

Sherlock just looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I got promoted. Detective Inspector and Donovan got the Sargent’s” He said still lingering by the door. “Guess I have your brother to thank.”

“No, he doesn’t meddle, your work on the Victor case was your boon. If I had known you were on him, I would have called you, seems your response time is quicker than Mycroft’s.”

“Oh ok. You seem a little, bored.” Lestrade remarked as he looked around the disheveled room.

“My mind is rotting without stimulation,” Sherlock replied.

“You going to stay sober from now on?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock gave him an almost insulted look. “I ask because my offer still stands,” Lestrade said revealing a stack of files. “As part of my new position I have all the access you want to cold cases.”

Sherlock perked up a bit. “Are their odd ones?”

“A few, but you start with the ones in the filing cabinet in my new office and work your way up to the ones in the storage room. Deal?” Lestrade asked

“Deal,” Sherlock said clearing his table. Lestrade entered and set the files on the waiting table.

Sherlock picked up the first one and started reading “Gardner.” He replied and picked up the second. “Hmm, this one may take a while with me still confined to this bed.”

“Ok, you got my number, just send me the case number and the culprit. I have a bunch of meetings today and tomorrow so don’t go through them too quickly.” Lestrade said with a smile.

“She won’t win,” Sherlock said not looking up from the file. “You and your kids will be happy. If you are still looking for a flat for the three of you, there’s one in Westminster, close to your place of work.”

Sherlock turned his phone to show Lestrade the listing.

“I can’t afford that, but thank you,” Lestrade replied not even bothering to ask how Sherlock knew about the divorce and all that was coming along with it.

“Oh that’s the listed price, but the owner is a friend, well, a friend of Willa’s they went to school together, I’m sure she’d make you a deal,” Sherlock said typing into his phone. “There it’s yours.”

“Ah thank you,” Lestrade replied unsure of why Sherlock was so…nice.. must be the drugs.

“You saved my sister’s life, and you brought me these,” Sherlock said lifting the files. “Just the thing I needed in my moment of need. My sister would be horrified and very angry at me if I didn’t do something in return. She keeps me in check like that.”

Lestrade just nodded as his phone beeped, it was the property owner, Marisol, letting him know where he could pick up the keys.

“Willa’s friend childhood friend Leon is a lawyer in family court, he saw you case, mentioned it to me when he came to visit her yesterday,” Sherlock said revealing his source. “You ex is pushing hard. I hope when she loses that she is able to leave you and your children alone.”

“Thank you.” Lestrade said heading to the door “And thank you for the flat. Remember, don’t rush through those cases.”

“I make no promises,” Sherlock said delving into another one as Lestrade left.

Lestrade stood outside the hospital. Having Sherlock Holmes and his friends on his side was either going to be an excellent thing or a horrible thing in his future? He guessed he’d have to wait to find out.

=-=-=-

“Well if you had come to us in the first place it would not be as involved,” John said as he carefully dug the bullet out of Sholto’s lower leg.

“I had my orders,” Sholto replied. “And in all honesty, I was so numb from, from seeing him. I didn’t notice till Hendricks asked me why I was bleeding on his floor.”

John just nodded. Sholto watched as John extracted the bullet from the fleshy part of his calf.

Riley entered with the X-rays.

“Looks good no damage to the bone.” Riley gave a small smile. Sholto just nodded.

“So once I get you stitched up and bandaged you are going to stay here for a bit, keep you on an IV to make sure it doesn’t get infected then, light duties till it heals,” John instructed. Sholto nodded “James,” John said his voice changing to one of more concern. “Are you going to be alright.”

“Yeah, you said it will heal,” Sholto replied.

“I’m not talking about your leg,” John said

“I know… I have to call his family still. I told the Cos I’d handle that. By now the men back home will have already visited her. They will have pulled up in the fancy car in their dress uniforms, looking all polished. She’ll know exactly what that means. She saw it when she was younger, with her father, and last year with her brother. He does, did love her, but.”

“It’s ok,” Riley said sitting. “I can’t imagine what it is like for you, all these years not able to be with him.”

“You and John are lucky, you’re at a better time to be together, and don’t let my grief affect you. You have two months, then you can start planning, and I will be there, I have three months left this time.” Sholto said

“Of course you’ll be there. Who else is going to give John away.” Riley said with a laugh.

“Oy, I thought we agreed you were the bride,” John smirked.

“But you would look way better in the dress John,” Sholto remarked with a small smile.

“Oh, I’ll remember that you two next time you need my help.” John laughed.

“So how will we tell you apart on your next tour?” Sholto asked “Captain Sutter or Captain Watson Squared. Unless one of you gets promoted, but that will be awkward having to salute in bed.”

Riley and John laughed.

“We’re keeping our names, at least for now, we’re in this army life for the long hull, and with the ways, things are there are going to be a lot more tours. So best keep things simple.” John smiled.

“Thank you. You two are the best pals a guy like me can have over here in a shit hole like this.” Sholto smiled.

“You’re welcome,” Riley replied

“And if you ever need anyone to talk to, between us we’ve got four good ears,” John said. Sholto just nodded.


End file.
